The Funeral
by I'mAGeekNotANerd
Summary: Attending a funeral is never an easy thing and it only doubles when it is someone as close and important to you as Philip J Coulson. And when people gather together to honor this man's life, they all reflect on what they have learned from him, and what they've gone through with their agent. First fanfic.


Nick Fury walked up to the door of the small house tucked away in the back woods of Portland. It was a few days from Christmas and the snow was falling thickly before him, covering the ground in layers upon layers of snow. He slowly trudged up the steps, stopping as he raised his hand to knock. The soft, sepulcher tones of a cello wafted out through the closed windows, making his heart heavier than before. He took a deep breath and let his hand connect with the door, nearly punching it with the force he hit the wood with. The cello stopped, there was a brief pause, and a sweet voice called out,

"I'll be right with you!" There was a slight clatter of noise and a small woman with neat black hair that framed an angelic, clear-complexion opened the door. She seemed to be half caucasian, half asian. It was innocent and beautiful and Fury's heart became a massive weight.

"Hello, how may I help you, sir?" She smiled and looked at him with complete naïve holiday joy that was reflected in her long sleeved, red and green holiday sweater.

"Miss Fenchurch?" he asked seriously, his sorrow obviously showing in his tone.

"Yes?" her voice became nervous as she recognized the man before her. Phil had described him to her once, but why would he be here?

"I"m Director Fury with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Is Phil alright?" she asked, hands, subconsciously wringing knots in her flowing white skirt. Fury clenched his jaw and looked down ever so slightly.

"Ma'am...Phil Coulson was the only man I knew who would take on a _god_ by himself. Who was that foolhardy...but that brave." Fear was etched into every line of her body.

"Is he okay?" It was just a whisper now.

"I've written more condolence letters over the past few months, and visited more families than I ever cared to in my life with this news. I'm sorry." It came out more abruptly than he had hoped and he held out his hand, the perfect, white, pressed condolence letter creating a wall between them. "Your fiance is the reason we won. He'll be missed." She bit her lip and began shaking her head, making small noises of denial.

"No." She slowly leaned against the doorframe and slid down it, sitting with her back propped against the cold, unforgiving wood. Unsure with what to do next, Fury gently set the letter beside her and turned to walk back to the car. He would have normally comforted her, but he was so lost himself he wouldn't have been of much help. Suddenly, he heard a nearly animalistic wail behind him and turned around sharply to see Lynne folded over herself, arms wrapped under her legs in complete grief.

Fury walked back over to her and stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder. At his tentative touch, she reached a hand around and held onto his like it was a life line, still sobbing uncontrollably.

"Mom? What's wrong?" a teenaged girl came running down the stairs of the house, and Fury's heart stopped. The resemblance was undeniable. But that couldn't be right...Coulson hadn't known Lynne Fenchurch for that long. Then he admonished himself: if there was anyone who could keep something like this off the charts, it was...would have been Phil. Fury looked back down at Lynne and said one final thing to her before he walked away, feeling like an angel of death.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Coulson." She sobbed even harder and her daughter ran to her side and held her close asking over and over again if it was her father, if it was Phil. The sobs redoubled in volume and Fury closed the door to his car, driving off, trying hard to keep himself together. But the image of the daughter and the wife huddled together on the porch was forever burned into the back of his eyes: it was an image that would come to his mind to haunt him for the rest of his life.

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"Tony, come on, it's time to go," Pepper said softly, knocking on the door to Tony's room.

"I don't want to go." Pepper rolled her eyes and punched in the override code and entered the room, the rest of the Avengers looming over her shoulder. "Tony, come on. Phil would have wanted you to be there." Tony sat on his bed, just staring out the window at the overcast, drizzling day.

"I can't go." Pepper sat beside him and put a hand on his back, sighing softly. "I'm not ready to."

Pepper looked over at the group of people by the door and jerked her head ever so slightly at her boyfriend. _Bruce,_ she mouthed and the Hulk came in to kneel before his science partner.

"Tony. You feel guilty don't you?" Tony's head snapped up.

"He was an idiot, why should I feel guilty for him being stupid?" he asked, immediately defensive. Bruce just looked at him and Tony sighed, looking down. "I guess."

"Hey, Coulson did what he had to do. He did what he thought was right. And we have him to pay our final respects to. He was the reason that we won the war, you know. He was the reason we're all living in the Tower together. He was the glue that held us together, and that is what makes him special to us, and what makes us special. You need to go and say goodbye Tony. It will help." Tony nodded once and stood up, straightening his suit before he gave one of his smiles and walked out the door.

"I just remembered. He never did tase me. I have to rub that in his face." Black Widow raised an eyebrow at that comment and followed him. She and Clint were in their uniform, Steve was in a suit, Thor was in his Asgardian outfit, and Banner was still in his several-sizes-too-big, brown, everyday outfit. Pepper stopped him as they were walking towards the elevator.

"Are you sure you'll be able to...you know...handle it?" Bruce nodded.

"Yeah. Sad people don't make me angry," he smiled and Pepper immediately looked embarrassed. "Don't worry about it. Thanks for your concern actually." They all crammed into the elevator and started going down. Steve sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Did you remember your stuff?" Pepper asked them all and each of them nodded, holding bouquets of flowers, or some other small thing clutched in their hands. The elevator door opened and Happy stood waiting for them and the sight of another man in a black suit made them tear up slightly.

"You guys ready?" he asked and Pepper nodded, walking past him out to the limo that was waiting outside. One by one they all climbed in and sat in silence as the dreary landscape crawled by, rain still falling in a light mist.

"I do not understand," Thor began quietly. "Why do you mortals weep at the Son of Coul's death?" Barton looked at him like "seriously?" but Thor pushed ahead. "In Asgard, we mourn, but smile at honorable death of one of our friends, for they have died the death of a warrior, a martyr, and now dine in Valhalla. They are forever at peace and happy." Steve looked up at him with something of relief and thanks.

"Thor," he began softly and the god of thunder looked at him. The super soldier nodded. "You're right. We should be happy for him. Thankful for him." Tony cleared his throat again and looked at the single poppy he was twirling between his fingers. Red poppy. For the death of a soldier.

Steve unconsciously felt his pocket for the familiar rectangle stack that he knew would be there but still wanted to make sure was there. Phil had been trying to tell him something and he just hadn't been getting it. But he got it now. Barton felt in his quiver and his fingers touched a worn, older arrow. He knew that it was there, but he just liked to feel it: to feel the memory leaking out of that smooth carbon shaft to take him back to a time when he was younger, when he was still training. When Coulson had still been his mentor. Natasha Romanoff, held a small necklace close to her, holding it tightly and closing her eyes, trying hard not to let herself lose control. Banner held a simple, thin metal plaque of metal that he refused to let anyone see. Even Tony had no idea what was so special about it. But all of them were thinking one thing to themselves:

Work was never _ever_ going to be the same.

The funeral service was short. A priest said the religious ritualistic prayers, and Fury came up to say a few words, words that seemed false and forced, probably prewritten for him by the Council. Men in black swamped the pews and two women sat in the front of the church, staring fixedly at the open casket that was sitting at the front of the room. The Avengers toned out what the man was saying and robotically stood when everyone else did, following the casket out of the room into the cemetery. By now, the rain had started to come down hard and it seemed more fitting than a sunny day. The world was weeping with them for the loss of a man that it still desperately needed. All of the S.H.I.E.L.D men left, until only Fury and Hill were left with the Avengers and Pepper. Suddenly, a small, beautiful young woman carrying a state of the art cello walked forward to place her hand on the casket, gently caressing it.

"You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human," she stopped and smiled in a way of an inside joke. "But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most loving, human... human being that I've ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you gave your life in vain." Here, she looked around and seemed to pinpoint Stark with a ferocious gaze. "I was so alone when you found me, and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Phil, for me, for Stella. Don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me?" She stopped again and closed her eyes in sadness. "I made this piece of music for you. I know that this was your choice...And I named this song after you 'This was my choice'. I will miss you, Phil. Merry Christmas," her voice broke over those two words, "and I love you so much, my husband."

She backed away and sat on a chair beside the casket and the cello started up out of nowhere and the Avengers saw tears making her green eyes red rimmed and swollen. This was Coulson's girlfriend, or fiancee, which ever. But they had never thought that she would be this kind of woman. But now that they thought about it, she was the yin to the yang of Phil, something that made The Agent so much more human.

Clint gently held Natasha closely as the song played and they all watched as Fury and then Hill walked up to the casket, saying their final goodbyes. Fury stopped and turned around.

"I know that what I said in the chapel didn't do him any justice. What _I _wanted to say didn't seem to work for the Council though, so I'm gonna say it anyways. Phil Coulson was more than just an Agent. He was my right hand man, my one good eye. He was a loyal man, and a good friend. He always knew what to do, what to say and when to do both of those things. He made dark situations lighter with his very presence, and he is going to be sorely missed not only as an agent, but as a close friend, and a husband. I only know one man who can successfully and excellently hack a computer and keep a marriage secret for almost 20 years. Coulson was a man of many traits, but his personality, and his cool under fire were what he was most memorable for. I think I speak for us all when I say that Phil Coulson was the glue that held us together, and that he alone could have brought us together to win a war, and save the world. For this, Coulson, we thank you and we lay you to rest."

Tony walked forward first out of the Avengers after a long moment of silence, holding the red poppy in his hands. He slowly set it in the coffin, laying it across the man's chest.

"Hey. You had better not be dead okay? This had better not be you, this had better be some sort of android or something with you watching this from some top secret invisible S.H.E.I.L.D car or something. You still have to tase me remember? Watch 'Super Nanny' while I drool on the floor? You're an Agent, hell, you're _the_ Agent. You can't die, you hear me?" Tony asked the dead man angrily. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and furiously looked away from him to the tombstone.

_Philip Joseph Coulson_

_Loving Father, Husband, and Dedicated Agent_

_The Glue That Holds Us Together _

_Even In Death_

_Have you never lost a soldier before?_

_WE AREN'T SOLDIERS! _His own angry words reverberated in his head. He had been wrong. They were _all_ soldiers. All of them. Soldiers for the protection of the world: something higher and more important than a simple international squabble. And Coulson had realized this. He had given his life for the cause and had been the best of them all.

"You better not be dead, you hear? And when you wake up, I want that poppy back. It's sprayed with some preservative thing I invented. That flower will never die. Just like our hope that you'll come back. Cause you're so badass that you just can't die, you hear that Agent!" he whispered leaning over the man before backing away to stand next to Pepper again.

Next Steve walked up, staring at the peaceful face. He gently reached into his pocket and pulled out the Captain America cards.

_Don't you think the stars and stripes are a bit old fashioned?_

_In the light of what is to come about, I think people might just need a little old fashioned._

He knew now what Coulson was telling him: he still believed in Captain America. He still believed in Steve Rogers. He still believed in The Avengers. He still believed in what he could do and that made him more meaningful to him than any of his other idols in his life. He took the bloodstained and now signed cards and gently pulled open Coulson's hand, placing the worn cards between his icy hands.

"You were my inspiration in that war, Coulson. Whenever I started doubting myself, I said think of Phil. Think of Agent Coulson. He believed in you always and never did doubt you. Not for one second. So don't you go doubting yourself now and die because of that. You kept me alive out there, and I am proud to say that _you_ are my hero, Coulson. You're _my _idol." He nodded a few times to himself before adding one last thing. "I signed your cards, Phil. I know how much they meant to you, and i'm sorry I never got to sign them when you were around. I'm sorry. You did well, son. You did well. Rest in peace." He briefly did the sign of the cross and backed away, mind still refusing to compute the evidence staring him right in the face.

Next up was Thor. It was a brief, quick thing. The God of Thunder came up to the tomb and the rain came pouring down even harder, drenching all of them there, except for some reason the casket. It was at that moment that the people realized that Thor had somehow managed to keep the rain from falling around Phil, and that the sky above him was clear. Suddenly, everyone saw the sign on Mjölner slowly appear on the tomb of Agent Coulson. Fury's eyebrow raised.

"What do you know?" came Hill's voice. "I guess Phil was worthy to be a god of thunder."

"He always was and always will be," came Thor's saddened voice. "I say again what I said before. I do not understand why you mortals weep at the Son of Coul's death. In Asgard, we mourn, but smile at the death of a warrior, a martyr, who now dines in Valhalla. They are forever at peace and happy. But now, I know. The death of one so close impacts us more than it does in Asgard for some reason. Maybe it is the fact that we are immortal there, that we don't value life as such a treasure. Humans are fragile, yet resilient. Here, life is a gift. And it was a gift that Coulson used to the fullest." He raised his hammer and the rain came down slightly less, but soon was coming down as hard as ever. "It seems as though the world mourns with us on this loss."

He stepped away to allow Barton and Romanoff to approach. Clint reached into his quiver and whipped out an ordinary arrow that was crusted with a little bit of blood at the end. It was obviously old.

"Hey, boss," Clint said softly, holding the arrow out to Coulson. "I guess you remember this arrow from my first days training with the bow. You know when I shot at a metal target and it rebounded and hit you in the knee? Out of curiosity, how did you _not_ make a single sound when that happened? You were recuperating for months and couldn't actually do anything for weeks after that...I swear you were going to kill me when everything was over. In fact, wasn't that why you assigned me to babysit – I mean train – all the junior agents when they were being tested? But anyways, I just thought that you would want to have this...As a memory. Not that the scar wasn't memory enough..." He carefully placed the arrow beside his mentor and friend. "I'll miss you. I mean, who's going to actually track me down in the air vents anymore?" Clint smiled and then it faded. "I'm sorry about Loki. I should have been stronger. I shouldn't have...I'm sorry." Romanoff reached over and squeezed his hand. "This is all my fault and I'm sorry."

"He didn't blame you, Clint. He never would. And it wasn't your fault." He nodded and placed a hand on his dead friend's shoulder before walking away to stand by his friends. Romanoff looked back at the body and leaned over to whisper something to him.

"You seriously need to stop this. I swear I am not going to be able to keep doing this with you dead. You were the one who helped me, raised me, and made me into who I am today. You took me in when I was a lost teenager in Russia, killing for the highest bidder. You gave me this locket to symbolize that you would always be there for me. Always. You told me you never broke promises. And you..." she paused and sighed as the tears slowly came. "You haven't. Not yet. You're still here. I know you are. And I won't stop fighting to bring you back until you are standing in front of me, alive and well." She straightened and pulled a small locket out from her pocket, slowly fastening it around his neck. "I won't stop. I'll never stop until I get back what Loki took from me." She took one of Coulson's hands in her own and her fingers habitually made their way to his wrist to search for a pulse. She knew she wouldn't find one, but she couldn't help it. She slowly closed the coffin with an air of finality that broke everyone's hearts.

Banner stepped forward, pulling out a plaque that simply had one word on it: AVENGED. He coated the back in a strange spray he pulled from his pocket and then pressed it hard on the surface of the casket, backing away to show the dark reddish wood with the gleam of silver on it.

"You were avenged Coulson." it was all the doctor said before turning to face his friends. They were all standing there, drenched and dejected looking. Pepper and Stark in the middle, Tasha and Clint to his left, and Thor and Steve to his right. Beneath all of their grief though, he could still see that glimmer in there: that glimmer of strength that made them who they were. That made them a team. Not a time bomb. He walked over and smiled at them, taking his place beside Romanoff.

Fury and Hill pulled the flag off the coffin and folded it. The Director then turned around and walked over to meet a girl in a long white dress who was walking forward from the street, arms full of a bouquet that seemed to be full of white calla lilies, olive branches, vibrant red roses, and other beautiful, delicate greens. She was tall and had brown, straight hair that fell to about her shoulder. She had an almost familiar face that was covered with freckles across the nose. She knelt by the tombstone and placed the flowers beside it and stood by the casket, unlatching it and throwing the top open, startling everyone.

"Who does she think she is? Defiling his grave?" Thor snarled, about to step forward, but Steve stopped him as the girl leaned over the casket and rested her head on his chest, holding his hand and the Captain America cards, crying softly.

"Daddy..." she whimpered, voice betraying the cool collect that she wanted to project in the presence of the others. They all stopped dead in their tracks as they heard that word and Fury walked forward to stand beside her, hand on her shoulder. "I love you so much, Daddy. Don't...Don't be...dead. I love you. I just want you home. _I just want you home_."

"It's time to let him go, Stella." The girl nodded and backed away and Maria Hill approached her holding the flag out before her, setting it in the girl's arms. Stella bit her lip and tears slowly leaked out of her eyes, as she held the flag in turn, watching the casket as it was lowered into the ground and its final resting place. Her mother set the cello aside and walked up to her, holding her close. Lynne turned around to face the stunned watchers, turning her daughter with her. Stella cleared her choked up throat.

"My name is Stella Coulson. And I am Agent Coulson's one and only daughter. He was a wonderful father, and I will never forget him. He always cared for me, and he always will." She looked down at her father's grave as it was getting buried and leaned her head into her mother's shoulder, tears coming again in waves.

Agent Coulson touched more lives than he ever realized, and even the world cried with the Avengers and the Agents family that day. And in the rain, the tears of the world, the ten men and women paid their final respects to the bravest man they ever knew.

**A/N: I have made a sequel to this story, Agent or Assassin. Has to do with Stella Coulson, please check it out! **


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